


Tongues

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Foreign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4606605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of him wants to understand – they are words, after all, and he might wish to repeat them to her one day, spin her a story in her own language. The idea is a precious one. But right now, hearing her let go completely… he is glad of his ignorance. He had been desperate for her to relax more, and now she could, safe in the knowledge that she could be as obscene as she liked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tongues

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the assumption that Nevarra is loosely based on Prussia, and that the Nevarran language is still spoken in the City of the Dead…

The first time it happens, he is spellbound.

He also has his hand between her legs, but that hardly seemed important afterwards.

“You like that?” he growls, two fingers inside her as the flat of his hand rubs against her clit, eliciting a strangled whimper. Maker, he _loves_ those noises she makes. “You like fucking my hand, Seeker? I think you do. You were wet just from the thought of it.”

“Oh – Varric, please –“ The words fall from her mouth unbidden as she rocks against his palm. _“Du hast mich so feucht.”_

He stares at her for a long moment, hand stilling. “Holy shit,” he whispers, “is that Nevarran?”

She shifts on the bed beneath him, blushing. “Yes. I did not mean to -”

“No, no! You, ah… you keep going, Seeker.“ His fingers curl around her heat. "I like hearing you in any language.”

And something wonderful happens as she gasps, falling back into that heated sensation. Some of the tension falls away from her, the breathy moans and soft sighs he is so used to accompanied by foreign words that feel wonderfully natural on her tongue. _“Du bist unglaublich,”_ she entreats, one hand sliding into his hair as her hips roll against his hand. _“Ich liebe es wenn sie mit meine fotze zu spielen.”_

Part of him wants to understand – they are words, after all, and he might wish to repeat them to her one day, spin her a story in her own language. The idea is a precious one. But right now, hearing her let go completely… he is glad of his ignorance. He had been desperate for her to relax more, and now she could, safe in the knowledge that she could be as obscene as she liked.

Maker, he _really_ wishes he could understand her now.

_"Bitte, bitte, ich brauche dich -”_

“Dick?” He grins, nipping at her neck. “That one I do get.”

_“Dich,”_ she emphasises, before huffing. “It means ‘you’, not – oh, shut up!”

He regrets it the moment her legs close, her body pulling away. “No! No no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -” He sighs, tugging her hips back to his. “I’m sorry. I’m just caught up in your goddamn voice, Seeker. You could be calling me a conniving little shit over and over and I wouldn’t know it.”

She glares at him, though the start of a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. _“Sie hinterhältige kleine Scheiße,”_ she murmurs.

“See? Insult, yet said with love,” he points out.

“Then stop trying to hear the words,” she murmurs, “and just _listen_.” She leans in to kiss him tenderly, her teeth tugging at his lower lip. _“Ich brauche dich,”_ she whispers, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. _“Ich brauche dich, mein Geliebter.”_

His hands find her waist, easing her over his length. “Like this?”

She smiles, straightening up and lowering herself slowly onto him. _“Erfüllen mich mit dein Schwanz,”_ she whispers, before gasping. _“Ah! Ja, du bist so groß, erfüllen mich!”_

He does not know a single word, but the desperate whine in her voice is guide enough for Varric to buck his hips sharply, filling her in one short thrust. She cries out, wordless and halting, stilling him with a soft hand to his stomach as she rocks slightly to adjust to the sensation.

When she meets his gaze, her smile is divine.

_“Machen Sie Liebe zu mir.”_

He hauls himself up to meet her, lazy kisses against her collarbone as he begins a slow rhythm, her hips rolling against his movements. “You’re amazing,” he murmurs against her skin. “You enchant me in any language, you know that?”

She laughs, a rich noise as she cups his face in her fingers. _“Du bist zu gut für mich. Du bist ein Geschenk des Himmels.”_

He kisses her, mirroring the soft affection in her voice. It amazed him still that she could take something ancient, a dead language from a city built around tombs, words spoken only to spirits and corpses, and yet on her tongue it had so much life – so great was her passion. Passion for him, he thinks, and his heart tightens as a quiet whine escapes him, hips stuttering.

She stills, looking down questioningly, and he swallows. “Dich,” he says hesitantly.

Her eyes widen. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“What about me?”

“Everything, Seeker. Just… everything.”

She leans in, lips grazing lightly against his. _“Du bedeutest die Welt für mich,”_ she breathes. _“Du bist das Licht in der Dunkelheit.”_

He has heard that soft tone before, that tone she reserves for when they are alone. Maker, he is fucking lucky, whatever the words.

“Kiss me,” he whispers, and she melts against him, arms wrapping around his neck as his hips rock against hers slowly. Flipping her onto her back, he presses soft kisses to her knee as he throws her leg over his shoulder, starting up his steady rhythm once more.

_“Härter. Varric, bitte, härter!”_ She writhes against him, pleading in her native tongue, and he understands that look on her face better than anything. Both hands gripping her hips, he starts fucking her in earnest.

One hand tight in her hair, the other flat against the sheets, her body tensing against his hard thrusts, she pants and moans her approval below him. _“Ah! Varric, bitte – mehr – ah!”_

“Come for me,” he pleads, hips snapping against hers sharply. “Cassandra, come for me, come on -“

_“Ich komme – ah, Varric, bitte – ich komme -”_ Her head falls back, fingers clawing against the sheets as her back rises off the bed, every inch of her trembling as she tumbles over the edge, tightening around him and forcing him to follow. He thrusts, short fast motions that stop as the tightly coiled knot in his core releases with a rush, a drawn out groan bubbling from his throat as he falls against her.

“Fuck, Seeker. You’re gonna be the death of me.”

She laughs at that, their breath coming fast as they disentangle themselves, getting comfortable against the pillows. Her smile is broad, soft around the edges and full of adoration. He loves seeing her like this, loves that he can tease the worries of the day away and leave her sated and at peace.

_“Ich liebe dich,”_ she whispers, a last parting gift in her native tongue as her hand comes up to stroke his cheek, and he does not need to know a lick of Nevarran to understand the look in her eyes, to repeat the words back in the common tongue.

“I love you.”


End file.
